Comments like where were the parents made her furious so often when it came to addiction.
It infuriated her. It really did. It added to the stigma that the families were already facing, the kind that made people hide their struggles in silence. Yet people never failed to judge as they cast downward glances. They whispered behind their backs, but they were unsure of what to say. But she had always been there.
When her child was born, she stayed awake all night. Feeding, changing diapers, and reading any book she could find about babies and parenting. She rocked the baby to sleep, humming lullabies that sounded like whispers, holding that tiny body close to her chest, feeling the soft rise and fall of each breath. She was there with her baby.
When her child was five, she ran down the driveway, hand steadying the back of the bike seat, her heart was whole as her child wobbled and laughed uncontrollably. The sun warmed her shoulders. The pavement had a faint aroma of asphalt and grass. She felt Joy between them with every giggle and squeal. She was there with her child. In second grade, she taught catechism and watched with pride as her child made their First Holy Communion. She remembered the small hands clutching the prayer book, the nervous glances exchanged with friends, the excitement in their eyes, and the smiles of family around them.
When her child lost their teeth, she remembers becoming he tooth fairy. She slipped coins under pillows and went back to watch them sleep. She looked in the morning, her eyes brightening when she saw their happy smile. Her heart felt lighter, too. She was there during thunderstorms, she stayed close, she comforted as she rubbed trembling backs, whispered soft words, and let her child press small hands into hers. The storm raged outside, but inside, she was steady; she was with them. When sports entered their lives, she came to every game, cheering until her voice was hoarse. She celebrated each win, wiped tears from scraped knees, and shared ice cream after matches. She was there for the laughter, the disappointments, and the triumphs every single moment. Yet they question where she was.
At sixteen, they had a secret code word, “Bible.” At any time, she would drop everything and come. No questions. No judgment. Only arms ready, car running, and unwavering presence. She was there when they needed her the most. Where was she? At seventeen, she raced to the ER after a call: her child had flipped their truck and had dangerously high levels of Xanax in their system. As her stomach hurt from confusion, and fear made her feel wide awake. She moved fast, arranging therapy, trying to stop things from getting worse.
She was there driving frantically through the streets of Detroit, tears streaming down her cheeks as her hands were tight on the wheel, her heart was hammering with equal parts panic and determination. Every red light felt endless. Every shadow could be a sign. When her child admitted they were addicted to heroin, she held them close, rocked them in her arms again, cried with them, whispered promises of survival, of fighting through the dark together. She was there with them, trying to find a way back.
She was the one searching for rehabs, sitting through withdrawal, cleaning up after vomiting fits, making call after call, she did everything to save her child. The world felt heavy, and yet her resolve felt heavier. Where was she? For ten years, she stayed. Twenty rehabs.several Detoxes. Endless Psychiatric stays. She moved across four states. Faced Countless overdoses. Plenty of Sleepless nights. Jail visits. She rode the roller coaster of addiction but never let it go, she never gave up. When a child is sick with a disease, a parent does not quit.
